


Hostium Munera

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Amabilis Insania [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Depression, Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, F/M, Gen, I'm Sorry, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6634189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the events in Redcliffe, Herald of Andraste goes to see a despondent prisoner in the Haven dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostium Munera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TCRegan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Eight Months](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872898) by [TCRegan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan). 



> The title translates from Latin as Enemy's Gifts.
> 
> I am gifting this to TCRegan because reading their Inquisitor/Alexius story finally gave me the confidence to post my own! :D

The dreary quiet of the dungeon is punctuated suddenly by the sound of footsteps - a lighthearted, cheerful melody pattering against the cold stone. The drowsy guard looks up, blinking thickly through the slits of his helmet. It is not apparent, what with the protective layer of steel shielding his (rather pudgy) body and hiding his features from view - but he is smiling. He cannot help it. No-one can; not even Seeker Pentaghast, as the rumour has it. The Herald just has this effect on people.  
  
'Good afternoon, Godfrey!' a youthful voice chirps, as a willowy female silhouette appears against the square of light flooding in from the Chantry hall above. 'All well down here? Flissa sent you your sammich yet?'  
  
'Good afternoon m'am!' the guard booms back, with a thick rural Fereldan accent. 'All's well, and if you'd be passing by, tell Flissa the sammich was bet'er than anything Andraste cooked for the Maker!'  
  
The Herald snorts with laughter as she approaches Godfrey, tapping lightly at the stone floor with her tiptoes as if she were dancing. With the contrast of light and shadow now not so stark, more of her features come into view: the leaf-like ears; the swarthy, freckled skin; the sloping forehead, touched by the fine, twisting lines of a traditional tattoo; the peculiarly shaped nose with a bridge that slightly resembles a cat's, and the large blue eyes, which are filled with warm, genial glow.  
  
'Does your Chantry really teach that Andraste cooks meals for the Maker?' the woman asks, narrowing her eyes in amusement and slight incredulity.  
  
Godfrey shuffles his feet sheepishly.  
  
'Well, nah... But I figured, even the Maker had to sit down for dinner some time! Maybe He and Andraste take turns cooking, like me old ma and pa did... Please - ' he swivels his head around, rather comically, and looks over his shoulder. 'Please don't tell Mother Giselle or the Lady Seeker that I said that!'  
  
'Don't worry,' the Herald chuckles, soft dimples appearing on her sun-bronzed cheeks. 'Your secret... Canticle of Home-Cooked Meals is safe with me!'  
  
Godfrey breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
'You are awful nice, m'am, for a - '  
  
He stops in mid-sentence and hastens to end it with a loud, awkward sneeze. The Herald, apparently having guessed the reason behind his fluster, reassures him again.  
  
'It's all right,' she says, without a shred of annoyance. 'You are probably not too used to seeing Dalish being out and about in a village like I am, and according to Josephine, the tales about us are wilder than a vivern with its tail on fire! I had such a good laugh at that bit with the shape-shifting and eating newborn babies... It's almost just as amusing as what my elders told me about the she... humans. Speaking of which - '  
  
Her eyes darken, and she bites into her lower lip.  
  
'The reason I came here is... I was kinda hoping... That you would let me talk to the prisoner - alone. From inside his cell'.  
  
Godfrey grunts in evident disapproval.  
  
'You mean you want me to just go off and leave you with that... that evil... villain? What if he tries to pull something... blood-magicky?'  
  
'Shush, Godfrey,' the woman smiles at him, but this time her smile looks crooked and forced. 'I have... dealt with him before; I can handle myself. Besides, if he wanted to do something blood-magicky, he would have done so already. Do you know how flimsy the locks are in here? Before the cells started filling up, I'd pick them for sport!'  
  
Godfrey mumbles something incoherent, but eventually concedes, inclining his head to look at the Herald's left hand - the source of her wondrous magic, which has been helping her slay demons and heal the sky and vanquish evil... villains.  
  
'Right then,' he says, straining to be heard over the rattle of his key chain, as he fumbles for the key that unlocks the cell door. 'I will just... Head out... Drop by at the tavern... Thank Flissa for the sammich... And by the time I get back, you better still be alive m'am!'  
  
The elf bumps her fist against his pauldron, in what is supposed to be a gesture of encouraging camaraderie - but her expression still remains mirthless. Then, after the metal door swings open with a dreary creak, and Godfrey ambles off, she slips inside the cell and looks straight ahead, into the rank, slightly humid darkness.  
  
Even though he must have heard them talking about him, the prisoner never moved an inch; now, too, as the elf draws closer and closer to him, one hand clasped nervously on her chest, another pressed to her side and fingering through the air, he refuses to stir. He is slumped against the far wall, one leg bent slightly in the knee; his face is turned away from her, so that all she can see is the rim of his broad, outlandishly decorated hood, which is now covered in splatters of dirt and smears of mould that must have come from contact with stone.   
  
She pauses when there are barely inches of space left to separate them; then, she swallows, steadies her breath - and, dropping to her knees next to the motionless man, wraps her arms around his shoulders. This proves to be unexpected enough to break the prisoner's stoic resolution to stay still and silent; he starts violently and lets out a hoarse, hissing curse,  
  
'Kaffas!'  
  
A moment later, mustering a degree of composure, he clears his throat and says curtly,  
  
'Pardon the language. You startled me with your… arrival. I believe our dealings are completed, Herald. I have submitted to the Inquisition, and now wish to be left in peace. Kindly remove yourself from my cell'.  
  
The elf shakes her head, shifting on her knees in an attempt to see his face.   
  
'Not until I say what I came here to say,' she says, in a tone of quiet resolution.  
  
The prisoner inhales deeply; as she finally catches a peek of his haggard profile underneath the hood, she sees him close his eyes wearily.  
  
'And what could that be?' he asks, his voice hollow and expressionless.  
  
The elf swallows again.  
  
'I wanted to say that I am sorry,' she breathes, her eyes beginning to brim over with tears. 'In... In the future... When the Elder One had taken over the world... I - I had to kill you'.  
  
The prisoner's eyes remain closed; his body is still frozen in the same pose - which means that he neither yields to the elf's embrace, nor makes any attempt to shake her off.   
  
'Well, we all fought you, actually... ' she corrects herself. 'Cassandra, Leliana, Varric... Even Dorian... had to... strike at you... But - but it was me who made that final blow. With my - with my daggers... And - '  
  
Her voice cracks, and she instinctively grips at the grimy cloth of the prisoner's once-embellished sleeves.  
  
'And I... held you, bleeding, just... just like I am holding you now... So - so I got to look you in the eyes before you... before you slipped away... I am so, so sorry!'  
  
Something twitches momentarily in the corner of the prisoner's mouth - a shadow of that cold, domineering smile that he gave Grand Enchanter Fiona while announcing that her charges were to join the Imperium's Legion.  
  
'I imagine the experience must have been very gratifying, Herald,' he says venomously. 'I cannot fathom why you would want to apologize'.  
  
She sniffs and then tears away from him, keeping at arm's length, her tear-streaked face both pained and angry.  
  
'No! It was not gratifying! It is never gratifying to kill people - not for me! And you... I had just learned why you did what you did... All of that: the time magic, the Venatori, the Elder One - it was all to save your son! I - '  
  
A shiver runs up her spine. The prisoner's nostrils quiver; he bites hard into his lower lip and shoots a long glare at the Herald. A look like this could well be the harbinger of a lightning bolt - but she continues, undeterred.  
  
'I can't imagine how it must feel... to love someone so devotedly, so desperately, that you would sacrifice the world for the slightest promise of bringing them back...'  
  
'Well, I failed, did I not?' he still tries to sound sarcastic, but his voice barely escapes his thin, ashen lips. 'The world is far from being sacrificed, and - '  
  
As he appears to have scraped together at least some shreds of strength, he utters the next sentence in a slightly steadier voice.  
  
'And I think you have outstayed your welcome, Herald. If I am to be your captive, at least allow me some share of dignity. Your sympathy is not needed; neither are your... sob stories about a future that never was'.  
  
The elf clenches her fists and pushes herself up to her feet.  
  
'I - I probably hurt you even more, didn't I?' she whispers, turning to face the cell door. 'But... What happened to you - it really breaks my heart. It is hardly any comfort for you now, but... But I wanted you to know that... That we needn't have been enemies. Whatever happens next - whatever the Inquisition decides... to do with you... I will vouch for you. I will do my best to... make sure your sentence is merciful'.  
  
'A quick death, then,' he says, his sunken eyes following her as she begins to walk away. 'I shall be looking forward to the judgement day'.  
  
The elf lets out a curious, groan-like sound, turns square on her heels, and stares back at the  dusky cell.  
  
'As Falon'Din is my witness,' she says, sifting each word carefully through her teeth, her narrow chest heaving. 'I will not allow anyone who was there with me to die a second time. Not Cassandra. Not Varric. Not Leliana. Not you'.


End file.
